


Those of a Feather

by Fishwrites



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Animals, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Wings, Cat/Human Hybrids, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Charles is a giant mother hen, Children, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Kid Fic, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2846339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishwrites/pseuds/Fishwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where everyone is part!animal and countries/cities are divided based on your species, Charles lives in Laurendium, a feline capital near the sea. Trade flourishes between neighbouring canine cities and towns, but there's very little travel to the mountains where the Avians live. As the city's orphanages don't like taking non-feline children, Charles has developed a habit of taking in strays and lives in his family estate with a rag tag of children he has adopted. </p><p>Life goes by smoothly and quietly enough - until one day, a falcon crash lands in Charles' forest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those of a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> In which Charles comes from Laurendium aristocracy (ragdoll/siamese) but lost his parents in a sea-wreck and proceeds to adopt all the unwanted orphans in the city: including Alex (red fox-kit), Sean (flying squirrel), Ororo and Marie (kittens). 
> 
> Erik is a peregrine falcon from the cliff-bound city of Babylon.

_“There are no unwanted children,  
_ _only unfound families.”_

– The N.A.C.

:i:

 

_The Xavier Estate, Outskirts of Laurendium. Present Day._

Charles was half way through preparing dinner, watching over the sizzling pieces of salmon steak in the pan, when there was the sound of slamming doors and yelling all the way down the hall. One hand still on the handle of the pan, Charles paused, ears twitching.

In her high chair, Raven smacked her spoon on the edge of her bowl, oblivious to the commotion and thoroughly invested in her dinner. She was getting a bit big for the high chair, but it was the safest place to put her when Charles had to cook the rest of the food; she couldn’t fall off the edge. Right now she was sitting snugly with her wings tucked close to her back, digging into her bowl.

“Sugar!” said Raven, smacking her spoon again.

Charles flipped one of the steaks over.

“You’ve had two lots of sugar in that,” he said, trying to be stern, “too much isn’t good for your teeth. Do you want good teeth? Like Hank?”

“RAWRR,” said Raven, presumably in imitation of Hank. Charles chuckled.

“Yes, good,” he said, reaching over to turn off the heat. He was just about to ring the bell for dinner when there was an almighty bang somewhere close by. A moment later, the door to the kitchen banged open and Alex charged through, going so fast he skid right into the edge of the counter.

“CHARLES!” said Alex, eyes wide. He had mud all over his hands, leaves and twigs caught in the red fur of his tail that was standing on end. Charles hastily moved the pan off the fire.

“Whatever is the matter?” he asked, taking in Alex’s shaking hands and wrapping them both in his own. He tried to sooth the ten year old by drawing him into a hug, but the little red fox was vibrating with nerves and tugged Charles insistently towards the door, blabbling all the while.

“…in the forest, me and Sean were just out trying to find more raspberries ‘cus hank said they were still in season and and and he just _fell out of the sky_ and there was blood, heaps of blood I could smell it

“ _Blood?!_ ”

“ – and he got really big wings, Charles, bigger than Ravens and he looks so angry - I think he’s an eagle – “

“An eagle?” said Charles, heart picking up with fear. There hadn’t been eagles sighted near Laurendium for nearly half a century, but that didn’t mean there weren’t stories. “Are you sure?” then, “Where’s Sean?”

As if summoned, there was another loud _bang_ down the corridor before another body zoomed through the door way. Charles staggered as someone hit him right around the middle.

“oof!”

“I thought I told you to keep watch!” said Alex, crossly.

“Eagles eat squirrels!” protested Sean, still clinging to Charles’ middle, “I didn’t want to stay there without anyone!”

“But I run faster than you – “ said Alex, with an exasperated eyeroll, “what if – “

“He has really big wings,” said Sean earnestly, staring at Charles big, wide eyes, “I don’t think he’s like Raven. Really big. Pointy at the end. He was gonna eat me!”

“Raven!” said Raven. “Eat.”

Both Sean and Alex ignore her, shivering, their tails spikey with fear. Charles sighed, dropping down to a crouch so he was eye-level with the children. This time, Alex allowed himself to be hugged. Charles ran a soothing hand up and down the boy’s back, until the tremors slowly went away. He plucked a few stray twigs and leaves from behind Alex’s ears, carding his fingers through his hair until it lay tidy. With his other arm, he drew Sean into a hug too.

“It’s alright,” he said, “You did the right thing, coming back here. Now, I want you two to get everyone into the kitchen and stay there until I come back, okay? Lock the door behind you and – ”

Alex looked up, chin jutting out.

“I’m coming with you!” he protested, “You can’t go by yourself! You’re just a cat!”

“I won’t be going by myself,” said Charles patiently, “Hank will be with me. But if it really is an eagle, then I need you all to be safe, and staying in the house is safe. Okay?”

“No!” said Alex, stamping his foot.

“No!” repeated Raven from her highchair. “Charrrrr-les.”

Sean had his face buried in Charles’ sweater, and he mumbled something like ‘stupid stupid we’re all going to die.’

“No one is dying,” said Charles, “I need to go fetch Hank.”

“No need,” came Hank’s voice from behind them – and Charles turned to see Hank side-stepping through the doorway, carrying a first aid kit on his back, one of Charles’ father’s pistols in his hand and a hunting rifle over his other shoulder.

“Are they really necessary?” said Charles, a little faintly, at the sight of the guns, “Surely – “

“Alex said it was an eagle,” said Hank, holding out the pistol to Charles who had to stop Alex from making a grab for the gun, “Injured sure, grounded sure – but we’ve never encountered birds of prey this far out from the mountains. I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

Charles took the gun.

“Alright, I suppose that is sensible,” he said, disentangling himself from Alex and Sean so he could stand. Belatedly, he realised he was still wearing the apron and tried to undo the knot with his spare hand, while holding the gun out of Alex’s reach.

“I want one,” said the fox kit with determination, “I can protect you!”

“You are not handling a gun,” said Charles, “not until you are much older. And maybe not even then.”

“I know how to use it!” Alex protested.

“No you don’t,” said Charles.

“He does,” Sean piped up.

“Logan showed us!”

Charles let out a noise of exasperation and annoyance, “Logan… Logan is getting a telling off the next time he visits. Look, Alex – please – this…this Eagle might be very hurt. I need you get Ororo and Marie, lock the doors and stay here until we get back, okay? And have your dinner before it gets cold, please.”

Sean was nodding, scrambling across the kitchen to close the curtains.

Alex, stubborn to the tips of his ears, trailed after Charles and Hank all the way to the front door.

“Why does _Hank_ get to go?”

“Because Hank is bigger than us. And a doctor.”

“But – “

“Can I trust you to protect everyone else while we’re gone?”

At these words, Alex puffed out his chest, fox ears aquiver with pride.

“Yeah, fine,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, “I’ll protect everyone.”

Charles dropped a kiss into Alex’s hair and pushed him gently back inside the house. Alex didn’t need more prompting, tearing away and shouting for Ororo and the rest of the children to _come down to the kitchen STAT, code red, code red_. Hank stepped out onto the front steps, pulling the door shut behind them with a deep _thud._

“We should hurry,” said Hank, pushing his glasses further up his nose. A nervous tick. “Sean said there was blood in the feathers. Whoever it is, he is probably panicking if he’s awake.”

Charles rubbed his thumb across the pistol, an unfamiliar weight of metal in his hand, and nodded.

 

 

The Xavier estate rested on an expansive sprawl of flat woodland, bordered by a small river which wrapped around the east edge of the territory. They followed Hank (and his nose) deep into the forest, and Charles was beginning to regret not changing out of his leather shoes as the trees grew thicker, the shadows deeper and the sky further away. At least he had his sweater on. Alex was right in saying that Charles was a house cat – he liked the comfort and safety of the old manor house, the smooth polished wood and the warm fireplace in winter. He liked the woods too – but the tinge of blood, still fresh from Alex, made Charles uneasy.

They walked for a good twenty minutes, the air chilling their skin, ground soft with moss and a thick layer of pine needles, dampening the sound of their footsteps. Charles could hear and smell water now – and with it, a coppery scent on the air.

Ahead, Hank came to a stop, lion’s tail frozen as his ears flicked back and forth. Then he was rushing forwards, through a small clearing and calling Charles to follow.

“Oh bother,” said Charles, looking at the gun in his hand. At Hank’s shout of surprise, he hurried to catch up, skidding ot a halt when he saw –

There, by the riverbank, lay a peregrine falcon.

Charles knew he was a peregrine by his wings, dark feathers peppered with grey and silver, the exact same shade as the illustration in the books. His wings were huge, the feathers tapering to a point where they lay, splayed at the waters’ edge. He was lying half on his side, left wing crumpled close, his right wing stretched out. They moved, very slightly, with laboured breathing, and Charles let out a sigh of relief. Not dead. Injured, but not dead. There were feathers everywhere, some broken and bent the wrong way. But what drew Charles’ attention was the dark stain of blood at the peregrine’s shoulder, seeping through a strange suit he was wearing which had a tear across the right shoulder-blade. The smell of blood was strong now, floating above the gurgle of water and making Charles shiver.

The falcon was curled in on himself, arms wrapped around a bundle.

“No one has sighted them in over a century,” said Hank, who had crouched down beside the fallen man, “They rarely stray outside the mounts I – I’ve only ever read about them. Charles edged closer, tail twisting in the air for balance as he tip-toed across branches to crouch down next to Hank. He watched the peregrine’s face carefully – his brow was furrowed with pain, but otherwise he did not seem to be waking up.

Hank peeled back a sliver of suit – a strange, black rubbery material that Charles had never seen before – with one pointed claw, leaning close to peer at the injury. He wrinkled his nose.

“Bullet wound,” said Hank, “I think the bullet is still embedded. Not deep, but I think he tore it when he kept flying.”

“Do we know how long he’s been flying for?” asked Charles, putting his gun away with relief when it was clear the falcon was fully unconscious and probably won’t be waking up anytime soon, “Where’s the nearest Avian colony?”

“The Caucasus mountains?” said Hank, hand overing over the arch of one wing, powerful even in repose, “that’s one of their cities. But the Avians are travellers – he could have come from anywhere.”

“We would have heard if there was an avian sighted,” said Charles, thoughtfully, “The city would have put out a message. They always do, someone would have seen something through their glasses”

Tentatively, Charles lay one hand on the falcon’s injured wing. The feathers were soft against his skin, even though they were streaked with water and dirt and blood; and he felt a well of anger for whoever had shot at this man. If it wasn’t for the tall, dense forest, the peregrine might have died when he fell. His gaze fell to the bundle in the falcon’s arms and carefully, slowly, tentatively, he reached over and slowly pulled back the covering.

It was an egg.

“Oh my god,” said Charles.

Hank, in an uncharacteristic moment, swore.

“That would explain the broken wing,” he said, after a long pause, “He wasn’t trying to break his fall at all. I was saving his egg – is it…?”

Charles pulled the bundle out of the peregrine’s arms with difficulty. It was a strange contraption, more of thick cloth pouch stuffed with something porous and dense to cushion the sides. It had long straps that ran around the top of the peregrine’s shoulders, as some kind of harness.

He breathed out a sigh of relief when the egg felt smooth and unharmed. It was warm to the touch, the shell surprisingly hard and strong.

“It’s not broken,” said Charles.

“Good, I don’t want to deal with him if he wakes up to a dead – well,” said Hank. “We better get him back to the house. We don’t know who shot him, afterall.”

And the forest was getting very, very dark.

“They say Peregrines have always been the fastest of their kind,” said Charles, running a curious palm over the egg’s surface, “Maybe no one saw him?”

“We’ll have to cross that bridge when we get to it. I have to get this bullet out of him first. It’s going to be infected otherwise. It might already be infected.”

Charles lay one hand on the man’s forehead, and winced. He was very, very warm, and he wasn’t well versed in Avian biology to know whether this was normal, or a symptom of something more serious. He swallowed, hard, looking from the egg (an _egg)_ to the peregrine and then to the crumpled wing.

“Is it safe to move him?”

“Don’t really have a choice,” said Hank, “I’ll – I’ll carry him and you carry the egg. I’ll have to cut it off him first, but after that – here.”

Hank passed the first-aid kit to Charles, and made short work of the harness of the pouch before pulling the peregrine into his lap; hoisting him over his shoulder so that there was no weight resting on the injured shoulder. It left the wings trailing on the ground, and Charles hastily stood up, carefully supporting the weight of the right wing with his hands. They all held the breaths for a long moment – but the peregrine didn’t wake. Even so, Charles glanced nervously at the man’s hands – at the hard, sharpened points of his nails and the clean line of his jaw. Sightings of birds of prey were reported with utmost diligence for a reason.

“I’ve got it,” said Hank, a little breathless from the weight, and he shifted slightly so as to hold the injured wing in his free hand.

Charles hefted egg – it was very heavy – carefully wrapping the pouch and cloth around it before cradling it to his chest and stomach. He tried to bend down to pick up the first-aid kit, but his hands were more than full.

“Leave it,” said Hank, “Someone can come fetch it tomorrow, I have more back in the lab anyway.”

“Alright,” said Charles, looking worriedly at the Peregrine who was very pale in the little light there was, “Alright let’s get him home.”

 

:i:

 

It took them nearly two hours to carry the Peregrine out of the forest, by which time Charles’ shoes were well and truly ruined. Plus he had torn no less than five holes in his favourite sweater and got his tail tangled in unforgiving branches so many times he felt like he must be going bald back there. But the peregrine was still breathing as they crossed the front lawns and Charles couldn’t help but let out a noise of relief when they reached the front door.

“Alex?” Charles called, “Alex!”

For a moment, there was only the sound of their laboured breathing – but then Charles heard the patter of footsteps beyond the door before it was thrown open.

“You’re back!” said Alex, relief written all over his little face. It transformed into an expression of horror when he caught sight of the peregrine in Hank’s arms, “Shit why did you bring _that_ back?!?!?!”

“Language,” said Charles, half-heartedly, “And move a little please, we need to get this man to the infirmary right now. Where’s Raven? Has someone put her to bed? It’s way past her bedtime – ”

“She’s sleeping,” said Ororo, proudly, “And she brushed her teeth first. I helped.”

Charles smiled at her.

“Thank you, that’s very mature of – “

“Will he eat us?” asked Marie, peering around the doorframe as they got inside and Alex happily took the opportunity to slam the door shut.

“No,” said Charles patiently, “I’m sure he won’t be eating any of – “

“Alex said Avians eat land animals!” Ororo piped up, white kitten ears lying flat on her head with worry and displeasure, “I don’t like birds!”

“Hey now,” said Charles, who really was exhausted and out of breath, “Has Raven eaten anyone?”

All the kittens grew quiet.

“Has she?” said Alex, at last.

“Oh _really_ ,” said Charles, “Don’t be silly. Now, if no one is going to be helpful you can all go to bed early.”

 

The beds in the infirmary weren’t quite big enough to accommodate the falcon, so Charles and the children pushed two three of them together. Hank laid the man on one of the beds, letting the injured wing rest across the other two while the other trailed onto the polished wooden floor. Charles fetched a spare blanket from the hallway, nesting it around the egg and it’s pouch before setting it in a large armchair near the window.

“What’s what?” all the children had asked, piling around him.

“It’s the Falcon’s egg,” said Charles, “No, no – don’t touch it. We have to be very careful, okay?”

“Is it a baby?” asked Marie, eyes very big, ears standing to attention.

“Well,” said Charles, suddenly a bit unsure, “I presume so. That’s why it’s so big.”

“Is that were Raven came from?” asked Ororo.

“Probably,” said Charles,

Hank instructed Charles to hold the peregrine down in case he woke, before going to the shelves and returning with his kit, including a clear bottle of alcohol and several silver instruments.

“He’s smelly,” said Ororo, wrinkling her nose, from where she was helping Charles hold down one wing.

“And dirty,” Sean added, “mud.”

“ _Ew_!” said Marie, “It’s on my tail!”

“That’s because he fell,” explained Charles, handing Hank a clean cloth, and putting the blood stained one onto the bench-top for washing later, “He’s been shot by bad people and he couldn’t fly anymore so he fell into our forest. That’s why he’s dirty.”

“Oh,” said Ororo, chewing her lip. She stroked a large flight feather thoughtfully, brushing all the strands down smooth in the right direction.

“Are the baddies here?”

“Are they gonna shoot us?” asked Marie, looking worried.

“Alex said we gotta be on guard!” said Sean, who had a bandage around his leg to cover his cut and was very proud of his battle wound.

“Where’s Alex?” asked Charles, trying to count heads and hold down a spasming wing at the same time.

“He says he got first watch,” Sean reported dutifully, “Mine is in four hours.”

Charles felt a headache coming on. And judging by Hank’s expression, he probably had more than enough to go around for all of them.

“Can one of you go get Alex?” asked Charles, “It’s really past your bedtime. You need to all be in bed…”

“But the baddies!” cried Marie, clutching Charles’ pant-leg, “I can’t sleep with the baddies coming!”

“Well you can come sleep with me tonight if you’re wor- “

“Me too, me too,” said Ororo, “Can I sleep with you too I don’t want to be in my room by myself – “

“I don’t want to either – “ Sean began.

They were all cut off by a thundering roar.

“Will you all _be quiet_!” Hank shouted.

Wide-eyed, the kittens all nodded.

There was a clink of metal on metal as Hank deposited the bullet on a tray and held the cloth up to the re-opened wound.

“I’ll get Alex,” said Sean in a quiet voice. Charles tried to give him his most grateful smile.

“Thank you sweetheart. Tell him to come back here okay?”

“Okay,” said Sean, and ran out of the door.

“Charles,” said Hank, “I need this soaked. I’ll disinfect this again before sewing it up.”

Wordlessly, Charles passed Hank a padded piece of gauze-cloth. Ororo was still rearranging the peregrine’s flight feathers, and she paused when she came to one that had been snapped.

“Oh,” she said, “It’s broken.”

“It probably happened when he fell through the trees,” said Charles.

“Is he gonna die?” gasped Marie, eyes welling up at the very thought.

“He won’t die!” said Charles quickly, “It’s alright, love, it will grow back with time. He’ll be good as new with some rest.”

“And water,” said Hank, distractedly, “And food. I haven’t checked because I wanted to stabilise his injuries first, but I could feel his ribs. Not sure if that’s normal but…malnourished. Really dehydrated – probably has been flying non-stop for a few days at least. We really need an doctor who knows about Avians…”

“We haven’t had any visitors from Babylon for nearly five decades,” said Charles, looking at the peregrine worriedly, “I don’t think there are any Avian doctors in Laurendium. I could ask Logan when he’s here in a few days.”

“Why isn’t he waking up?” said Marie, trying to climb the bed to look at the man’s face.

“Because I gave him a magic potion to make him sleep,” said Hank, “Stop pulling on the sheets.”

“Sorry Hank,” said Marie, but she had climbed onto the bed at this point and settled herself by the falcon’s pillow. The man’s brow was furrowed, with pain or nightmares, Charles couldn’t tell. Every now and then, his wings would give a violent jerk as Hank sewed the wound on his shoulder carefully closed. Marie began picking the dirt and leaves out of the stranger’s hair.

“He has pretty feathers,” Ororo conceded, “I hope he gets better…”

“He does have beautiful markings,” Charles agreed. His hands were getting sore from holding down the wing; the sensation of feathers wasn’t something that had lost its novelty. Raven liked it when Charles groomed her feathers forher, especially the bits where she couldn’t reach – and it was often a way to get her to fall asleep if she was feeling restless in summer evenings. Charles marvelled at the powerful muscle, the rounded bone joint and the thick feathers that covered it, sweeping down until the longest feather was perhaps longer than Ororo herself. He wondered if Raven’s wing span would ever grow to be this large.

“Do all eagles look like this?” asked Marie, who was still petting the falcon’s hair, as if trying to soothe the distress away. Her tail curled and uncurled with her curiosity.

“He’s not an eagle, love,” said Charles, “he’s a falcon. A peregrine falcon, if I’m not mistaken.”

“I’ve never seen them before,” said Marie, which was true – Raven was the only avian the children had ever seen, and that was more than most of Laurendium’s occupants could claim.

“Neither have I,” said Charles, “In fact no one has seen any Peregrines for a very long time.”

“How long?” asked Ororo. She seemed to have warmed up to the falcon considerably, now that any immediate evidence of being eaten had been disproved.

“Oh, the official record says nearly one hundred years.”

“Wow,” said Marie, looking down at the stranger. “He has pretty feathers.”

Ororo huffed.

“I said that _already._ ”

“There,” said Hank, interrupting what may or may not have been a fight, “Done. Help me get this strange suit off, Charles…then we can figure out how to splint the wing.”

“Alright,” said Charles easing his hold on the wing, “is it safe to shift onto his back?”

Hank frowned.

“I think safest not too. I’ll cut him off and he can wear some of my old things later. We’re about the same height. Hand me the scissors?

They cut off the strange uniform off, bit by bit, slicing down the arms so they could peel it back from the peregrine’s skin. Hank had to lift him temporary from the bed so that Charles could peel the material back from the falcon’s chest, with Marie and Ororo holding up the injured wing. Hank made quick work of the bandaging, winding the thin soft layer first before tying it off with another two rounds of thicker cloth. Charles could smell the blood beneath the sting of medicine, sharp and oozing red. The falcon tossed his head in agitation, wings pulling at their fingers in a powerful reflex of muscle – distractedly, Charles noticed that the falcon had very broad shoulders indeed. He swallowed, and adverted his eyes to where Hank was trimming the suit off at the waist – and then had to advert his eyes _again._

“When’s he gonna wake up?” asked Ororo, blinking her eyes. Then she yawned, showing her first pointed canines. With a start, Charles realised that it was well and truly past bed time – even if their kind was semi-nocturnal. With all the excitement of the find, everyone was tired.

“I gave him something for the pain,” said Hank, “So he probably won’t wake up until tomorrow afternoon.”

Marie was still patting the falcon’s hair, looking intensely fascinated.

“Look,” she said to Charles, smoothing back the stranger’s hair from his brow, “Feathers!”

Charles looked – there were indeed feathers; soft down the colour of the falcon’s hair, nestled close to the skin. He reached out, subconsciously, with one hand…and had to stop himself.

They were interrupted by the door of the infirmary banging open, to reveal Alex and Sean. Alex was holding a large wooden bat.

“Oh for goodness sake – “ Hank started.

“He’s still unconscious?!!” exclaimed Alex, who was precocious for his age and delighted in expanding his vocabulary. He lowered the bat when the stranger did not move. “Good,” said the fox kit.

“I thought I told you both to go to bed,” said Charles, wearily, “In fact, it’s time all of you went to bed – Come on. I just need to put the little ones to sleep. No Ororo, don’t pull on his feathers, that’s not nice.”

Ororo pouted, having been caught, and decided to remedy the situation by throwing herself onto Charles’ right leg and clinging until she was at waist height – Charles staggered a little, and had no choice but to pick her up. At this, Marie ceased her petting immediately and held open both arms for Charles to pick her up as well. He adjusted Ororo on his right hip and offered his left arm – and soon, Ororo had her face tucked up in Charles’ jumper, ears flicking back and forth just beneath his chin.

“I’ll wait,” said Hank, setting down the scissors and the tattered remains of the suit.

“Great, thank you,” said Charles.

There was an insistent tugging on his tail and he turned – a little unsteadily – to see Sean looking up hopefully to where Marie and Ororo were.

“Oh no,” said Charles, “I’m sorry love I’ve run out of hands.”

“Piggy back?” suggested Sean, still eyeing Charles hopefully. Then he yawned too, rubbing one eye with a fist.

“Only babies need to be carried,” said Alex, disdainfully.

“Not a baby!” said Ororo, glaring down at Alex, “Charles likes us better than you. You smell. Foxes are smelly.”

“I DO NOT SMELL!” shouted Alex, tail bristling at the offence, face scrunching up – and Charles intervened before it could get out of hand. They were all tired, the poor things – and if they were not in bed in the next three minutes, there would probably be tears.

“Alex!”” he said, sharply, “Shh. We’ve got a patient here, remember?”

Alex glared at everyone, hand gripping his bat. His eyes were growing wet. Charles sighed.

“I love all of you equally,” said Charles, “Including Hank. All of you. Please apologise to Alex, Ororo.”

“He’s just jealous,” said Ororo, sniffing.

“Sweetheart,” said Charles, trying to inject as much stern disapproval as he could, “Apology.”

There was a long, long moment of silence.

“I’m sorry for saying what I said,” said Ororo, at last, muffled against Charles’ collar.

“I’m not smelly,” Alex repeated.

“No, you’re not,” said Charles, “everyone is just tired. We are all going to bed – right now. Come on.”

“Ororo is the smelliest – “ Alex started, but before he could finish, Hank let out a growl of impatience and said, very seriously:

“If you do not all shut up and go to bed, I’m going _to EAT ALL OF YOU_.”

“ _Piggy baaaack_ ,” said Sean plaintively, tugging on Charles tail.

 

 

:i:

 

> _12 hours later._

Erik woke to a haze of pain.

It was like a dull blade – sharp enough to jolt him further into wakefulness, but blunt enough to be almost bearable. His head was pounding, fuzzy and unclear like muddied water. Erik tried to concentrate, to isolate his injury. He must have fallen; the journey catching up with him at last. It was a wonder that he wasn’t dead. He remembered seeing the forest, then…

He didn’t seem to be in the forest now – there was the lack of sound, no branches clacking in early winter wind. No water.

His left shoulder was in agony. A tentative shuffle of his wings made Erik almost whimper – something was broken, he swore he could hear grating bone – he couldn’t straighten his left wing at all, the pain flaring up until his vision was white beneath his still-closed eyelids.

He tried to get up – but only succeeded in knocking something over, which fell with an almighty _smash_ , an expensive sound of fine glass, the kind his mother kept stored away like treasure held in soft, well loved clothing.

The crash reminded him of something else that was precious, and his heart leapt into his throat in a full blown panic.

_The egg._

_The last one._

He tried to sit, to power past the pain – but it blinded him when he moved too quickly. His vision went momentarily white, and by the time Erik had it under control again, gritting his teeth against it, there was the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

Someone appeared in the open doorway. They had clearly been running all the way here, judging by the way they skidded on the polished floor (polished wooden boards, flat: glossy and expensive. A home to a land-bound kind, then.) but came to a graceful halt, tail arching for balance, long and fluffy. It was not an avian sort of tail.

Erik stared, feeling his own eyes widen to a boggle.

“Oh,” said the newcomer, who was also staring at Erik now, “You’re awake!”

“Where is it,” Erik demanded, voice hoarse, “Where – where did you – the egg, _what have you done with it?”_

“Don’t move,” the stranger was pleading, crossing the room in a flash, “Please don’t move, here, here – “

And suddenly he was next to Erik’s side, carefully depositing a swathed egg in Erik’s lap. Erik felt like someone had sucked all the oxygen from the room in one swift breath, and he collapsed against his pillows, relief almost too much to bear. He wrapped one arm around the egg, pulling it close to his skin, fingers trembling.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” the stranger was murmuring, his voice almost a soft croon, “I’m sorry, we had to cut the harness off you to carry you both back, and I didn’t want to risk harming the – your egg- and it’s fine, see?”

Erik pressed a kiss to the top of the shell, his eyes stinging hot.

It was safe.

He wouldn’t be alone. He wouldn’t be the last.

It was a long time before he could speak again.

“You are not – “ Erik swallowed with difficulty, throat dry and voice rusted with exhaustion. “ – you are not like me.”

His panic had bled him dry as fast as it had come, and now he was suddenly hurting and tired. He clutched the egg to him protectively, though Erik was very much aware of how useless he would be if he would be forced right this moment.

“No,” said the stranger simply, “I’m not.”

And he wasn’t. He had no wings at all, not even small humming-bird ones. He was small and slight, with no claws to speak of and eyes that were disproportionately large in his face. Most importantly, there were two, distinctly non-Avian ears protruding from his brown hair, and a tail covered in fur and not feathers. His ears were moving and twitching in a most peculiar manner, twisting as if on hinges and it almost distracted Erik enough to want to touch.

Having lived in the mountains all his life, Erik had never seen a feline before.

But he had heard _of_ them from the other wanderers, and could hear, distantly, his mothers voice ( _There once was a city, far, far away, a city built on the glittering Sea. And in that city –)_

There were no felines in the mountains.

This could only mean….

Hope was bitter to taste, but Erik swallowed it whole, his entire body taut with tension, good wing spread out in a vain, instinctive attempt to intimidate. The effect was marred by his injured wing, cramped and shivering close to his back. He clenched his fists, then let them relax again.

“This – is this Laurendium? The city of the sea?”

The cat took a few steps towards the bed, and Erik could barely hear the footfalls.

“Yes,” said the cat, ears flicking, a most curious movement unlike any appendage Erik had seen before. Despite the fear, despite the hounding suspicion in his chest – it was hard to look away.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” the cat said, an almost purr, soft, “We took you back from the forest where you…landed. The house is quite secure. Won’t you lie back down? You shouldn’t be moving at all…”

“Laurendium…” Erik repeated. He could count the empty pauses between each beat of his heart, painful against his ribs. “Who are you? How do I know you’re not with Shaw?”

The cat paused, one hand on Erik’s bedcovers. It was so very close that Erik almost flinched – but held himself forcibly still.

“I don’t know who Shaw is,” said the cat carefully, “But I’m Charles Xavier.”

“Who the fuck is Shaw?” piped up a new voice from the doorway.

Erik snapped his head around so fast he thought he sprained something.

“Alex!” exclaimed the cat – Charles – “Language! And put that bat down, please.”

“Logan says it all the time,” said the small cat – a child, Erik guessed, perhaps Charles’ own? – They looked nothing alike, their colourings were completely different, but Erik had no idea whether markings meant the same thing to these people as it did to his. This child had big orange-red ears instead of nut-brown, and when he stepped into the room, Erik saw that his tail was positively _enormous;_ a long tuft of what looked like mostly fur. What could that much fur be possibly good for? Perhaps it was like the baby down of chicks that had yet to come into their flying feathers, and when the child grew up his tail would be like Charles’ instead.

“Well Logan is going to be in big trouble when I see him next,” said Charles, “You mustn’t swear like that, especially not at guests, it’s not polite.”

“What – “ started Erik, suspiciously.

“You have the right to be silent!” announced the cat-child, hefting his wooden bat as he neared the foot of Erik’s bed. Erik felt all his feathers stand up and he tried to sit up straighter – gritting his teeth against the pain of the movement.

“Anything you say will be used against you!”

“Oh Alex, really – put that down. Come on. Give the bat to me.”

The cat child refused, hands gripping the handle of the bat and glaring at Erik over the mattress. He was barely tall enough to see over the top, and Erik guessed he couldn’t have been more than eight or ten years old.

“Alex,” said Charles, moving away from Erik and towards the child.

“No! He could be dangerous!”

“Alex, put it down now.”

“YOU NEED ME TO PROTECT YOU,” the child was shouting, waving the bat.

Erik tensed, good wing stretching out slowly, warily. There was a large window. He could smash it and get out, if the cat blocked the door – but Erik wasn’t sure if he was in a state to fly; let alone outfly someone. And it wouldn’t do to damage the egg.

“Alright – _Alright_ , but I need you to go fetch Hank. Can you do that for me? Our guest needs his wounds redressed or they will get infected.”

 

 

“Dun’ care about his infection,” said was Alex, casting Erik a truly resentful look.

“Hank’s not far – just off the trail, collecting the purple brook grass. Please love, the others can’t run as fast as you and we really need Hank to be here now that – “ Charles glanced at Erik, “ – he’s a awake. Please?”

The child thrust the bat into Charles’ hands.

“FINE,” he said, “Hit him with this if he tries anything funny. I will be back soon!”

And with that, he sprinted out of the room in a whip of red-orange fur, tail and bare feet.

There was a brief pause, then the cat turned and gave Erik an apologetic smile. Close up, he looked as exhausted as Erik felt, with smudges under his eyes. Charles set the bat down on an empty seat with a sigh, tail curling languidly through the air, looping around his ankles then uncurling again.

“Sorry,” he said, “Alex is very excitable.”

“Alex,” Erik repeated. “Is he …yours?”

“Yes,” said Charles, and a truly soppy look overcame his face. “Well. Not biologically, he’s not a cat, you see – he’s one of the red foxes. They don’t usually live this close to the coast but I think it was a particularly bad winter that year and they tried to… I took him in when he was just a baby. And he’s been with us ever since, so in that sense we are family but – ”

“A _fox?_ ” said Erik, completely taken aback, “I didn’t know there were such – I’ve never – “

Erik blamed whatever herb they had given him for the lightheaded fog that he was in. He followed Charles as the cat returned to his bedside, footsteps as light and quiet as feathers against the skin, tail floating. There were no foxes in Babylon either, the Cliffside city inaccessible to anyone without the power of flight. Perhaps he had made it out, after all.

“What’s your name?” asked Charles, gently. His eyes were very big and very blue, ears pointing straight at Erik as he inched closer slowly, as if Erik wouldn’t notice him moving if he did so in increments.

“Erik,” said Erik. “Lehnsherr.”

“Nice to meet you, Erik,” said Charles.

There was a long pause. Charles’ eyes flickered to the egg in Erik’s arms.

“And what about…is that yours?” he asked, quietly.

 “No,” said Erik, and he could only think of the fire, “No – it’s not mine.”

“Alright,” said Charles, without pushing for more. He sat down carefully at the foot of Erik’s bed, tail wound about his own hand. Would you let me put it back in the chair while we redress your wounds?

Erik’s arms tightened about the egg.

“Body warmth,” he said. The he blinked, hard, “It needs body heat,” he said, “It needs to be with me.”

The cat edged closer on the bed.

“If we don’t redress your bullet wound it’ll get worse,” he said, “And we need to check the splint on your wing. If – if I held your egg and sat right here, where you could see me…would that be okay? You really need to get your bandage redone, if it gets infected Hank says you might lose an arm it’s – you were flying for so long it’s really in a bad way and you must be in a lot of pain right now – “

“I can’t,” said Erik, feeling his heartbeat ratchet upwards until it was hard to breathe and he had to get away, he had to –

The next thing Erik knew, he was pressed against the wall, back to the headboard and crouched on the mattress. He could smell the salt and copper of his own blood, and Erik had one good wing, he could probably escape before Shaw…before Shaw –

Dimly, he was aware that he was shivering, his wings shaking with them as he shuddered, trying to get his heartbeat back down. Charles the cat was still at his elbow, inching slowly towards Erik. He froze, when he met Erik’s gaze.

“Shhhhh,” he said, quietly, “Erik. Whoever Shaw is, they’re not here. You’re in Laurendium.”

“Laurendium,” repeated Erik, voice hoarse as if repeating a mantra, “the city by the sea.”

“Yes,” said Charles, ears flicking. Close up they were not the same colour as his hair, but a shade darker. It was at once very strange, and very familiar – a creature of bedtime stories. “You’re in my home. We’re a little way inwards from the coast, but it’s still very close. Did you mean to come here?”

“I had to get away,” said Erik. “He was killing everyone in the guard. I had to save – I think I’m the last one left.”

His voice broke with the weight of that thought, before he could reach the end of the sentence, and his knuckles were white upon the egg’s cream shell.

Charles raised his hands – and they looked remarkably similar to Erik’s own hands – and slowly, slowly placed them on Erik’s arm. There was along, long moment where Erik simply stared at the contact, feeling every single feather stand on end.

“You need to take the strain off your wing,” said Charles, “And this shoulder. Please?”

Erik was momentarily distracted by the tail, which arched past his face and came to settle somewhere near his waist. The cat smelt like grass, children and milk; it was a very clean smell – different to the earthy rock that was so familiar.

“Look – Look,” Charles was saying, hands a flutter, “Your shoulder is bleeding through again. Let me – let me change that first, right? You’re going to get an infection if we don’t redress that wound, it was really quite - “

But Erik wasn’t listening – because he could hear someone approaching, and their scent – it made something scream at the back of Erik’s brain with all the fear of a grounded bird –  and he had to fight the urge to run, to fly, get away, _predatorpredatorpredator._

Then:

“I got him! I got him!”

Alex had returned, careening around the doorframe and nearly running headlong into the bed. There was the squeak of feet on floorboard before Alex was peering at Erik over the top of the mattress again, eyes beady with distrust and curiosity.

He was easiest the tallest person in the room – more than a head taller than Charles, perhaps even taller than Erik himself. He walked with a strange loping gait, and was carrying a large metal briefcase which he set down on the floor. He had a tail – but it wasn’t like any that Erik had heard of – long and thin with a tuft of fur at the end. His hands were clawed.

“…Erik? Erik, _breathe_.”

But Erik could only stare, his head filled with the buzzing sound of blood rushing through his veins. Helplessly, his good wing arched out, trying to fill space and intimidate.

“What are you?” he said. “You’re not – you’re not a cat.”

“No,” said ‘Hank’, “I’m your doctor. Why are you sitting up?”

“Hanks’ a lion,” said Alex matter-of-factly, “and he can snap your neck if you do anything funny.”

“Alex!” said Charles.

Erik didn’t have much time to react because Hank – Hank the _lion –_ was coming towards him with a grim look on his face and Erik was not about to be mauled while stuck on a bed. He reared back on instinct, simultaneously trying to shield the egg and make him self as big as possible with only one working wing.

“I said stay still!”  Hank shouted, hands outstretched and Erik managed to hit him across the face before there was a furious shrieking sound and someone leapt onto him, clawing at his hair. Erik snapped his wings out reflexively for balance (something else smashed with a resounding _crash_ to the floor); before the pain made his vision white out.

The last thing he heard was Charles saying “Alex – Alex _stop,_ everyone, oh for _goodness sake_ – “ before everything went black.

:i:

 

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this about a year ago (longer?) for Lyn and Chem - both of whom are not in the fandom anymore. But after some requests via tumblr, i've decided to post this here. THis is actually the rewritten version of the original whih is about 19K and I still have not finished rewriting (and it's not even finished omfg haha). I went as far as to plan all the cities and the politics and conflict history between the races alskdjfasdlj. =____= 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the fluff even tho it's a bit OOC!


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